Violent Delights (White Monarch 1)

He leaned down, and I flinched, shooting out my hand to catch myself before I fell back in the dirt. He picked up my bouquet, dusted soil from the lilies, and held it out to me. “Don’t wanna forget this.”

I brushed off my hands, clutched the bouquet to my breast, and hurried back to the church. Pilar waited out front with my shoes and a lace mantilla veil, looking uneasy.

“Who is that?” she asked, helping me back into my heels. “He came looking for you.”

“I don’t know,” I answered.

She held up the veil and draped the ivory Spanish lace over my hair and shoulders but off my face. “I’ve never seen him before,” she whispered.

I glanced over my shoulder to where he waited by the door. “Diego sent you?” I asked.

“Da.”

Da. Yes.

Did my father have any Russians on his payroll? It could’ve been, though I didn’t recall any.

The man stepped forward and held out a small black box with a white satin bow. “From your intended.”

I exchanged a look with Pilar, and the pit in my stomach dissolved. What was Diego up to? With renewed excitement, I took the present, slid off the ribbon, removed the top—and inhaled a sharp breath at the familiar rosary inside.

“What is it?” Pilar asked.

My eyes watered as I handed her the box and held up the gold chain of rubies and pearls. I ran my fingers over the Sacred Heart center and intricate gilt crucifix. “It’s an exact replica of my mother’s.” I shook my head as a tear threatened to fall. “How did he remember it so well?”

“And when did he have time to make it?” Pilar pointed out.

That was an equally impressive feat. Perhaps he’d known for some time he would give it to me on our wedding day. I held it to my heart. “Thank you,” I said to the man, who just shrugged his wide shoulders.

I looked over myself once more in the mirror. The beads spilled from my hand, and for the first time, I glimpsed the grace Barto had said I’d inherited from my mother. I could think of no better way to meet my groom.

We hurried to the front of the church, me with my head bowed, Pilar on one side and the Russian on the other. When we climbed the steps and reached the carved wooden doors, he pulled one open for us.

Bells began to chime. I had only an hour before Barto was supposed to pick me up to meet the helicopter. One hour to meet my fiancé, return with my husband, and break the news to my father.

“Are you coming in?” the man asked Pilar behind me.

“Sí.”

“If you insist.” He grinned. There was something funny about the eye with a scar over it. He closed the door behind us as we entered a small antechamber that opened to the grand, high-ceilinged church.

Light spilled through the stained-glass windows, and candles lit the aisle to the altar, which was surrounded by fresh flowers, including the red roses and white lilies of my bouquet. I passed into the nave slowly, taking it all in. I would’ve never thought Diego could pull this together so quickly.

My heels echoed off the empty pews as I walked deeper into the church. Father Rios stood at the altar, his head bent as he murmured to himself, reading from the book in front of him. I would have to remember to thank him later for ending his services early to perform this without notice.

Three men in suits stood around the priest with their backs to me. My stomach dropped. I flattened my hand against it to quell my nerves, welcoming the coarse lace under my palm as I picked up my pace. I looked for Diego but stopped after only a few steps. My betrothed wasn’t amongst them. Two of the men had rifles strapped across their suit jackets. And the third, even from behind, was unmistakable. A constant presence in my nightmares, a monster even to monsters—the devil himself.

What was he doing here? I took a step back.

Cristiano turned his head over his shoulder, giving me his profile. His jaw sharpened as he paused there. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I began to feel faint. Finally, he turned and faced me. “What a beautiful bride you make, Natalia,” he said, meeting my eyes. “Not that I expected anything less.”

He had no reason to expect me at all. How dare he show his face on my wedding day? The beads of my mother’s rosary dug into my palm. He looked wrong next to the elderly, homely priest—and at the altar, where Diego should’ve been.

The heavy door to the nave closed behind me with a click, causing candle flames to flicker and sigh. The distinct, pungent smell of marigolds invaded my nostrils.